Blackbird's Eye 2023

Blackbird’s Eye 2023

Blackbird’s Eye

In May of 1974 the first Blackbird’s Eye was published as a culmination of a week-long program held at the School called “Poetry-in-Schools”. Internationally acclaimed poet Thomas Heffernan was the School’s “poet-inresidence”. The students wrote a poem for him, titled “To Tom Heffernan,” from which the title Blackbird’s Eye comes.

Blackbird’s Eye Faculty Review Committee:

Nicole Camastra

Beth Garrison

Casey Haarlow

Chris Miller

Maureen Morales

Elizabeth Sager

Kathy Taylor

Blackbird’s Eye Student Review Committee:

Caroline Acker ‘24

Luke Harper ‘24

Owen Williams ‘24

Cover Art:

Front cover, Eden Young, 10 Back cover, Kaylee Wilson, 1

Blackbird’s Eye

Volume XLIX 2023

Willa Savely

TABLE of CONTENTS

CONTESTS

The English department held two writing contests following “The Seasons” theme. Contest #1 was a fallthemed contest, where contest #2 was writers choice for winter, spring and summer. The “Seasons” theme was used as a perfect opportunity to express oneself in poetry, prose, critical analysis, and/or other mediums like photography, painting, and collage.

Winners Runners Up

Campbell Medford, “Sketches and Scenery” Pages 36-37

Isla Riggsbee, “Alice in Pineland” Pages 28-29

Titus Caviness “Bigfoot” Page 23

Julia Gamez “Blue Sunset” Page 26-27

Shahrazad Batterjee, “The End” Page 42

Audrey Kim, “Jack-O-Lanterns” Page 19

Ava Bozovich, “Her Game” Page 16

Harper Hairston, “Jenny Jonnes” Page 31

Tyler Kuhn, “Halloween Horror Story” Page 18

Julia Gomez, “The Autumn Sea” Pages 24-25

In celebration of Earth Day, April 22nd, the science department held a photography contest and asked students and faculty to submit photos in the following categories:

• Enjoying the Earth - Winner Radford Walker Page 41

• The Earth Up Close - Winner Isla Riggsbee Page 17

• The Earth’s Landscapes and Wildlife - Winner Adrianne Kim Page 20-21

Contest winners were determined by a survey from O’Neal AP biology and biology students.

The 2023

Blackbird’s Eye is dedicated to Chris Miller

This year’s Blackbird’s Eye is dedicated to a member of the faculty who has served O’Neal for 25 years. His peers regard him as exemplifying the true definition of a gentleman to our student body, displaying qualities of kindness, honor, and courtesy, and giving promise to the thought that chivalry is not dead.

His depth and knowledge of the disciplines within the humanities are profound. His teaching career at O’Neal started in 1998 teaching English and AP English, eventually switching to history, teaching AP US History, AP US Government, Intro to Economics, and Comparative Government.

He received his bachelor’s degree in English from UNC Chapel Hill where he also worked as a newspaper reporter. He later earned his master’s degree in English from NC State University and taught English on the junior college and university levels for several years. He completed his doctoral degree in English in 2005 from the University of South Carolina at Columbia.

In the words of famous Danish author Hans Christian Andersen, “Where words fail, music speaks”. This rings true to our honoree who is also an avid drummer and finds immense joy in playing classic and progressive rock. His love and dedication to percussion is supreme.

Finding great pride and value in showcasing the literary work of our students, over his 25year tenure at O’Neal, he has orchestrated the publishing of our annual Blackbird’s Eye and serves on the committee to select the Bill Youngclaus Creative Writing Award Winners. Despite his diligent and vigilant oversight of the School’s literary magazine, this dedication escaped his watchful eye. It is an honor to dedicate this year’s Blackbird’s Eye to Dr. Chris Miller.

The Bill Youngclaus Creative Writing Award

The Bill Youngclaus Creative Writing Award was established in the Spring of 2007. The award recognizes a student in each division exhibiting exemplary skills in creative writing while honoring its namesake, Bill Youngclaus. Mr. Youngclaus was an O’Neal parent, school trustee and avid writer himself.

Written by his wife, Lisa Youngclaus, the following was recited upon presenting the first awards 15 years ago:

“This award was created out of the generosity of many friends and family members who chose to honor their fond memories of Bill Youngclaus by making a memorial donation to The O’Neal School.

Bill Youngclaus was a brilliant, creative, talented man who attended Yale University on a full academic scholarship and graduated with an English degree. He pursued a successful career in the advertising business and lived and worked all over the world, mastering four different languages and assimilating many cultures and ideas. But the language he loved most was the language of the written word. He read novels, plays, and poetry and he wrote fiction and poetry throughout his life.

Bill loved The O’Neal School for its high academic standards, its devoted faculty, and the loving, caring environment the School provided for his young son, Will ‘12. Bill served passionately on the O’Neal Board and dreamed of the School being able to fulfill all of Will’s dreams and the dreams of all the other students that call O’Neal their home.”

The poem or prose of each of the award winners is exhibited in Blackbird’s Eye

The 2023 Bill Youngclaus Creative Writing Award Winners

Poem

Page: 11

Short Story

Page: 23

Poem

Page: 35

Knox Jackson, 3 “The Snow”

Titus Caviness, 5 “Bigfoot”

Charlotte Mills, 10 “Summer into Winter”

One day I went to go to the mountains. It was fun to go there and then we ran out of water. We were thirsty. We were lost. We did not know our way out.

Elizabeth Burgess, Kindergarten

I see a ghost!

Lilly Morahan, Kindergarten

Lara Prince, 1

Who Am I? ~ Haiku

I am red and black I land on your hand softly You can make a wish

Taylor Johnson, 1

I slither and bite

My skin looks wet but is dry I can climb trees high

Andrew Johnston, 1

I roll in the mud

I am pink and have a snout On the farm I oink

Caroline Doby, 1

I live in a log

When I’m scared I curl up I like to hide low

Savana McPeake, 1

I have lots of legs

I am black and have red eyes I am sticky and sly

Grace Ames, 1

I start as a worm

I turn into a cocoon And I fly away

Carter Davies, 1

I’m big and extinct

I’m an ocean meat eater

I’m big as a bus

Wes Pearsall, 1

I fly by outside I fly high up to the light I am nocturnal

Mac Kavanaugh, 1

I’m yellow and black

I’ll sting if you bother me I live in a hive

Addie Schuerger , 1

I’m big and extinct Scariest in the ocean I can kill a whale

Tristan Keating, 1

I am red and black I fly and glide all day long I eat lots of leaves

Ava Grubb, 1

I have lots of legs I am orange and skinny I can crawl on logs

Wesley Kemp, 1

I’m red or I’m black I bite peoples hands and feet Stay far from my hill

William Kornegay, 1

Mae Corbin, 1

Hike Adventure

One morning my family and I got ready for a hike. I quickly brushed my teeth and got dressed. We left the house and it was about an hour drive. Once we arrived, we got out of the car and walked to a trail. We saw a sign that said, “No pets allowed.” “Good thing we didn’t bring a pet,” I thought. We walked through the trails. I was scared because there was a steep drop, but we kept walking through the thick forest. We walked and walked. Then we saw a baby black bear! It was so cute! We stopped and took a photo of it. Then we continued to walk. We were careful to stay our distance because we knew the mama was probably nearby. When we completed our hike, we drove home tired from our adventure.

Meg Caviness, 2

Nutmeg

N- Nutmeg has a bunch of friends who came to the Sciuridae Café.

U- Usually when Nutmeg visits the café a bunch of kids stare at her. She finds it quite creepy.

T- “Time to go see my crazy kids,” she says.

M- “More like monsters staring out of the window,” she thinks.

E- Excited is a word to describe how we feel when Nutmeg visits.

G- “Good, they aren’t against the windows,” she thinks.

Kaylee Wilson, 2

Toren Robinson, Kindergarten

Spring is beautiful. Spring is kind.

Spring welcomes new people to the world. Spring is a season full of wonderfulness. It urges new flowers to grow.

Spring is very warm in North Carolina. It is also very beautiful for spring in North Carolina. March, April, and May are months in spring. Baby animals are also born in spring.

The holidays in spring are St. Patricks Day, Easter, Palm Sunday, and Memorial Day. Many insects come out in spring.

Most insects are bees, ladybugs, stink bugs, firebugs, ants, fire ants, butterflies, and moths.

Edith A. Walker, 3

My Favorite Season

My favorite season is summer. Because of these reasons.

I think it is the best season ever. But your favorite season could be winter, spring, or fall why did I pick summer why? Well you get summer break which is two months long. You can also go swimming and play tennis, and golf. You also get to go on a summer vacation only because you have enough time for a proper vacation. This is why summer is my favorite season.

Blake Ulitenok, 3

Summer

Roses are red, violets are blue

The air is warm, flowers are blooming

Ice cream dripping, kids are swimming

Trees are tall and green Strawberry picking

Playing in the pool, sun tanning too.

Foster Lucas, 3

The Snow

One day I was walking along the cold winter snow. It was silent but not for long. In the distance you could hear something. I ran further up towards the sound, but nothing was there. I walked further up and looked in the trees and saw a beautiful snow owl. The owl glided over my head with ease and disappeared into the forest.

Knox Jackson, 3 | Lower School Youngclaus Award Winner

Earth’s Little Life Story

I am the Earth. My favorite season is spring. Spring is my favorite because it is so beautiful and full of flowers. I know it makes me sneeze, but it is worth it. Another reason is that food is being grown and sold. Spring is also my least favorite season because fruits and veggies are sold in plastic and Styrofoam and then people litter more. Luckily, there are people who pick up the trash. Sometimes I can’t tell if it is people or trash, because they both tickle a lot. But spring is still my favorite.

The End

Evalynn Cox, 4

Fall Comes

Summer’s gone; fall shall come now you can have some fun!

The leaves fall down, and you come out, as there’s a breeze in the wind wishing you don’t have to go in.

From the leaves on the trees where you want to lay at the end of the day.

One day far away I’ll be able to say, when fall comes we all will be able to stay.

Khloe Allen, 4

The Bandit

A knight rode through a sunlit forest with his loyal squire and solid steed. He sought adventure everywhere but encountered no misdeed. A rustle in a thorny brush, could it be his enemy’s flag? When he drew his heavy steel, his foe was just a stag. Eventually they took their rest near a misty stream. The tall reeds swayed as if to say, “Collapse your eager eyes and dream” and the squire fell in soft repose like a child without a worldly care. But, while our blissful heroes napped, indeed two eyes were watching there. A keen beggar both small and quick made fast work of purse and clutch. Then the gleam of heavy steel struck their eyes. Up the knight sprung all at arms only to a groggy squire’s surprise. Such a wave of rage swept across the knight’s grimace as the clouds overhead turned into a darkened nimbus. A giggle sprung from somewhere on a hidden limb. “Go up servant shake him loose!” cried the knight but the squire only found branches “Then go higher!” commanded the knight “ uhh . . . Yes, my lord. “All signs of life silenced while the rage drained from the knight’s face. “I spy our purse the search has ended!” The squire tied purse to clutch and descended. Still, it felt like justice wasn’t met to the bandit and the giggle was heard again “come down and face me!” but the bandit flapped its arms to show he would soon be off on feathered wing “It was a Mag Pie, Sire!” The squire laughed but the knight felt undone to be fooled by such a clever little bird.

Titus Caviness, 5

Hattie and the Fox | Carter Davies, 1

Her Game

“You ready?” my mom called. I groaned. Mom was always such a worrier. At least Dad has some adventure in him. Dad was like a magician. Always having a trick up his sleeve and always having a big fake smile on. Mom was more like a sloth. Slow, steady, and cautious. I should introduce myself. I am Edward Nightheir. I am 13 years old and was ready to go to Satena school of monsters and witchcraft. Mom and Dad had already gone back in their school years, back when dirt was not so old. As I walked into the rickety old stone school, I noticed something strange walking towards me. Mom would say its mean to call someone a “thing”, but I don’t think that thing was even any monster I could know. As the creature walked towards me, I noticed something strange. It had a witch’s hat on, but bandages wrapped around its eyes like it was one of the mummies. As it came closer, I saw it had fangs like a vampire and a patch of skin on its neck was zombie skin. I was shocked. I had never seen someone like this before. The creature came to a stop and said one thing “Hi!” the creature said in a cheerful voice. “What are you?”. I didn’t mean to be rude, but I was so puzzled about what this creature was. I noticed she was a girl but didn’t say anything. “Ha!” she laughed. “What do you want me to be?” I gave her a confused look. “What do you mean?” I asked clearly confused. “ I’m everything.” “I’m a combination of every monster ever lived and still alive!” she said with a cheerful laugh. “What are you?” She said switching from a skeleton to a zombie, to a devil, to an angel then back into her normal form. “I’m a wizard.” I said pointing to the peaked wizard hat on my head. “Ok!’ she said with a smile doing 180s in the air with a pair of black wings on her back. “What unit are you in?” I asked. At Satena you get put in a unit depending on what type of monster you are. Since I’m a wizard, I’d be in the witch and wizard unit. “What unit?” she said taking the wraps off her eyes. She faced me. Her eyes were blood red. “This is all just my big game.” she said. Her eyes rolled in the back of head as she put the wraps back on her eyes. “Wanna be friends?” she said suddenly, her way to cheerful mood back. “S-s-sure.” I stuttered. First the creepy eyes, then the comment about this being her game. “Eddie!!” someone called breaking me out of my trance. I turned and sighed happily. It was Abigail. Abigail had been my best friend since we were babies. She had always been the more advanced witch but was humble about it and taught me all the advanced spells. “Who’s this?” she asked pointing to the girl. “I don’t feel like telling you” The girl said her joyous mood suddenly dead. “Okay....anyway Eddie you want to go hang out?” Abigail said clearly weirded out by the strange girl. I smiled. Abigail and I hadn’t been able to hang out since we were both so busy preparing to go to school. “We could go to the potions room.” she added with a sly smile. That just made my smile bigger. Abigail and I loved making weird potions and seeing what they did. One time we accidentally turned her into a black cat. I opened my mouth to answer but was cut off by the girl. She stepped in front of me and said “Sorry, he’s my pawn now.” she turned to me and said “Hey, let’s play tag …” she smiled. “I’m it.” Everything after that was a blur. I remembered being thrown into the corner and hitting my head on the cold stone. I reached up and touched my head. I was bleeding badly. All I could hear was the screams and cries of students and the smell of blood and demonic childish laughter ringing in my ears. I heard Abigail scream and then it was all black. I woke up two days later to Abigail crying in a chair next to the bed I was in. I noticed throughout the week that the girl did whatever she wanted to do. One day our hexes teacher came up to her and yelled at her for not being in class. I didn’t see our teacher again. It all fell in dark arts class. I was just sitting there doing my work when a monster of pure darkness blasted into the room. “You’re just a pawn.” the girl’s voice said as I was grabbed by the monster and thrown into the deep abyss of the monsters stomach.

Ava Bozovich, 5 | Fall Writing Contest Runner Up

Isla Riggsbee, 7| Earth Day Photography Contest “Up Close” Winner

Halloween Horror Story

It all started with a scream. A shrill, ear-piercing scream, tearing through the cold, foggy night air. I froze in fear. A shiver vibrated through my spine, then left. My face drained of color. “There’s something else here,” I whispered to Will, who was still beside me. A snarling sound came from the hedge next to us. Will, who was much braver than I, took a step forward. He swiped the branches away, revealing a distorted creature huddled over a form that looked once human, smacking and growling. Will gasped. “Shh!” I told Will. But it was too late. Snarl. Chomp. Smack.

“You think I’m going to send all my police officers off chasing Satan? Do you know what would happen to this town? Without police? You’re delusional,” police chief Xavier chortled condescendingly. A scowl slowly crept across my face. “Well, where did this come from?” I said, rolling the sleeve of my T-shirt up to reveal a purple claw mark, covered in a thin layer of scabs. Chief Xavier thought for a minute. “You could have done that sleepwalking. Dreamed all this up and woke up with that scar. people can die sleepwalking.” “I don’t sleepwalk,” I informed him. “Whatever,” said the chief. “Your friend was kidnapped by some stalker. I don’t believe in no monsters.” “I saw it with my own eyes!” I fumed. “Yeah, well your eyes sure deceive Ya,” said Chief Xavier. That did it. “Fine! If you won’t believe me, then maybe the news will.” The police chief snorted hysterically. “They’ll never believe you,” he laughed. “Breaking news: local loon kid saw the devil!” he joked as I stormed away. Maybe it’s not a clever idea to go to the news. It was time to take matters into my own hands.

That Halloween night, my parents let me go out trick-or-treating alone. “Take this,” my mom said. “Kids are disappearing around here.” She handed me a bottle of pepper spray. “I’ll be careful,” I said. “All right. Have fun!” My mom replied. As I left, I snuck a knife into my pocket. I was going to do a lot more than just trick-or-treat. I hopped on my bike and glided out of the garage, pepper spray in hand. I bumped down the dark street, keeping my head on a swivel. I halted when I found myself at a fork in the road. One road was illuminated by porch lights and Halloween decorations, while the other, deserted, reeked of death and pollution. I headed right onto the dark path. I swatted away cobwebs as a foggy mist rolled in, limiting my vision. A low rumbling sound called out from somewhere deep below. I slowed down. The air turned slowly to red as I rolled on. It must have been a trick of the light, but a seemingly red cloud blocked out the moon. Darkness fell across the road, and soon I was enveloped in night. Just then, the growling sound rang out again. I looked to the right and saw a pair of fiery eyes open. The only thing I could see was fervent hatred staring back at me. I skidded off my bike in fear, quickly rolling down a hill on the left side of the road. I did the only thinkable thing-I ran. I pumped my arms as quickly as possible. My legs burned. I heard demonic growling behind me, closing in. I peeked around my shoulder. The monster was floating in the air, moving at remarkable speed. It seemed to have taken the shape of a demon, much different than the last time I had seen it. I ran even faster at the notion of it behind me. I spotted a farm nearby and slid into the corn field. I crouched down and crawled into the stalks of overgrown corn. The same mist I had seen earlier slipped into the corn field. I heard shuffling in the row of crops next to me. I patted myself down and found the knife that I brought with me. My shaking hand pointed at the figure appearing, clutching the knife in a tight grip. But the face that came out of the corn was familiar. “Will!” I whispered. “I thought you were dead,” I told Will. “Shh!” Will said. “He’s coming.” The mist. The red eyes glowing. I picked up my knife. A screeching sound tore through the smoke as the demon attacked us, and a slash from my knife forced him to circle around. In anger, I hurled my knife directly at him. Immediately, a flash of light blinded me. When it faded, I saw the demon struggling under my blade. Then it disappeared, leaving nothing but a trail of blood that said, “I’ll be back,” but something told me that wouldn’t happen anytime soon.

Tyler Kuhn, 5 | Fall Writing Contest Runner Up

Jack-O-Lanterns | Audrey Kim, 11 | Fall Writing Contest Runner Up

Adrianne Kim, 3 | Earth Day Photography Contest “Landscapes” Winner

Bigfoot

It was late at night the middle I think, when suddenly I jolted awake. Something big and furry was leaning on the outside of my tent, was it my sister? No, she was deep asleep next to me. Then I remembered my dad telling me about bigfoot, and how people hiking often claimed to have seen him. The thing shifted again and I thought I heard a deep sigh, I frantically racked my brain trying to remember if my dad said anything more about bigfoot did he eat people?! Was he friendly? My heart was beating so hard in my chest but I must have fallen back to sleep at some point. When I woke up, I noticed an indentation in the ground. My dad called, ‘’Hey kids come here”, leaning over another indentation right next to the campfire “looks like we had a visitor last night, a bear I think.” The print was as big as a dinner plate. I gasped “or maybe” my dad said winking at me “It was bigfoot.”

< A Walk in the Woods | Gianna Maheu, 8

Titus Caviness, 5 | Middle School Youngclaus Award Winner | Winter Writing Contest Winner

The Autumn Sea

I stare out the window into the distance. I see the waves lap the shore as dawn settles over the horizon. No more pelicans now fly over the vast sea, they’re long gone by now. For the trees have now become bare, the leaves have settled on the cold frosty ground making it a rainbow of red, orange, yellow, and brown.

The sight of my backyard in the fall was better than seeing the seven wonders to me. Of course this would be the last fall I saw it. My family and I were moving tomorrow to Salem, Massachusetts. The way I loved my backyard was the way my parents loved Salem. It was their seven wonders, but it wasn’t mine.

Salem wasn’t that far, it was only about fifteen minutes away. We were practically in Salem already, but we were going farther inland, where I couldn’t see the waves lap the shore each morning and hear them crash. Now, each morning when I wake up in Salem, instead of the glorious sea, I’ll see the beautiful sight of plain old grass, miles and miles of grass.

Breaking my thoughts, I heard my mom yell to me, “ Lexi, breakfast is ready!”

“Coming,” I replied, taking in the smell of bacon and eggs. I got my breakfast and sat down.

“Lexi, I need you to do something for me,” mom paused chewing a bite of food. “Dad already went and started moving stuff in the new house so I need your help with . . . . ”

Haystacks | Cecily Perrotta, 8

“What!?” I cut my mom off. “You said we weren’t moving until tomorrow! You want to have time to heat up the little slab of turkey that’s left, or should we have no turkey?”

“Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving, do you really want to move tomorrow?” Mom questioned. “And before you cut me off I was saying, I need you to take the golf cart down to the store and pick up the turkey and stuff.”

“Can I at least take the dog with me?” I asked, glancing over at Mango, my dog.

“If you want to wake him up,” Mom responded. “Make sure you grab his leash, and don’t let him jump out. Does the store even allow dogs?”

“Yeah,” I called, waking up Mango.

I put Mango on the leash and brought him out to the golf cart. I had one hand on the wheel and the other one on Mango’s head. I started down the road towards the store, and before I knew it, I was back in the cart driving up the road with the turkey, but the difference was I wasn’t paying much attention to where Mango was sniffing.

There was a sudden noise that sounded like something was ripping. I pulled the cart over to the side of the road and looked behind me. I saw that there was a big rip in the bag the turkey had been in, and I saw Mango chewing on something. I realized Mango had eaten the turkey!

You know how that went, mom and dad said, “No turkey, no Thanksgiving!” I tried to go back to the store and get another turkey, but on the morning of Thanksgiving Day, of course they would be out of turkey. So I drove back with no turkey.

The last morning I spent in my house flew by. It was noon before I knew it, the sun was high in the sky.

“Lexi, time to go!” Dad called.

No! I thought. I wasn’t ready to leave my house. “One more minute?”

“Now Lexi, do you want to have time to heat up the little slab of turkey that’s left, or should we have no turkey?”

“Fine,” I muttered, stomping down the driveway into my car.

We were finally at the new house. Dad immediately put the turkey in the oven, the clock ticked, and eventually the oven beeped, telling us the turkey was done.

We took a seat at the table, said grace, and split the little slab of turkey into four. While we were eating, I stared out the window, remembering the vast sea that went on forever and the pelicans that would fly over in the summer. Now I stare at the grass, that sometimes peeks though the rainbow of leaves, and out into the distance the geese fly over the horizon.

And I realize it’s just as beautiful as the sea.

Julia Gamez, 6 | Fall Writing Contest Runner Up

The trees swayed a bit as the sun sunk deeper into the horizon, in the near distance an owl hooted. The stars slowly became visible, as the fire red turned into the deep blue ocean color. I watched it all. California summer sunsets were glorious. I loved watching the fire turn to pure ocean. I could no longer see the waves crashing along the shore. It was too dark. But I could hear them.

“Help!” A shrieking voice pierced the night. “It’s coming!”

“Hello?” I got up frantically looking around. “Are you all right?” And there it was again, a shriek that could be heard more than you could see fire. It came thundering from the ocean. It’s coming, I suddenly remembered that line. Shark!

“Are you still out there?” To answer my question a figure emerged out of the shadows with blood pouring down on the beach.

One day later . . .

I still could not believe that there was blood on the white sandy shores. I couldn’t believe there was a person swimming that late during shark feeding hour. And worst of all, the person was blaming the poor innocent great white shark. I was pretty sure that the person hadn’t been attacked by a great white because of the teeth marks, and they had captured the wrong shark.

“Callie come here,” my mom called.

I came down the stairs.

“I don’t want you going in the ocean after 3:00. Your dad said that the person is seriously injured.”

“Okay. I won’t. But the person is blaming the shark when it was their fault!” I said louder than I meant too.

“How do you know?”

“The same way you know, dad’s a doctor. They’re his patient.”

“Okay,” mom slowly responded.

“Bye!” I ran out the front door. I didn’t have time to waste explaining where I was going. I threw on my helmet and pedaled down the road towards my friend’s house.

I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going so I almost ran into a trash can. I got off my bike and threw down my helmet and sprinted for the door.

“Ali would you open the door?” I pounded on the door.

Ali slowly opened the door with a confused expression, “What? Are you okay? What happened? You know you probably shouldn’t be running through the streets in the early morning pounding on people’s front doors. Right?”

“There’s no time to explain, I have to show you something. Grab your life vest and binoculars.”

Thirty minutes later . . .

“So what exactly are we doing?” Ali asked.

“Yesterday someone got bit by a shark and we’re paddle boarding out to find it and prove it’s innocent.” I responded.

“What! Have you ever even paddle boarded in the ocean before?” Ali yelled.

“Nope,” I calmly told her. “But if you’re coming let’s go, I have a curfew.”

We put on our life vests and started for the beach. When we got there, we put the paddle boards in the water and paddled out to sea. The waves were pretty calm at first but when we got out deeper the waves got turbulent.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Ali asked.

“There’s no turning back now.”

“Yes there is! The shore is right there!” Ali complained.

“Shh!” I hushed Ali.

“Don’t hush me!” she responded.

“Look!”

We had finally found the shark or a shark. And the shark wasn’t a great white. In fact it was a oceanic white tip. An endangered species of sharks. And swimming all around in every direction were fish. Tons and tons of fish. We had not only found the real culprit but also the feeding grounds of a shark.

I am going to set that shark free, I promised the shark in my head.

“Lets go,” I whispered.

“What about the one that actually did it? Now they’re going to capture that one,” Ali asked as we reached shore.

“They won’t because the oceanic white tip is a endangered species of shark,” I responded.

One day later . . .

I watched as they released the great white. It disappeared into the deep blue ocean, and it looked like he had faded into the beautiful sunset. It was a beautiful summer evening, the perfect one to watch a shark get released back into the sea. I started back down the board walk and in front of me there was the sky and the constellations. I turned my back to look at the sunset one last time for the night, but the fiery red had already faded into the deep blue ocean.

Julia Gamez, 6 | Winter Writing Contest Winner

The girl has just walked out of the wall. And she seems as confused as I am about it, too. The library wall looks normal, typical brick, a few cracks. The girl is dressed in an old fashioned, flouncy dress and has a big blue bow stuck in her too-perfect blond hair, but the costume isn’t unusual considering today is Halloween. However, she did walk out of a wall, so unless I’m hallucinating or the library has a rotating invisible door, something very curious is going on.

The girl nearly jumps three feet in the air when I clear my throat and ask, “How did you just walk out of a wall?” She seems surprised. “Did I?” She says in an old-fashioned British accent similar to the one from the garish cartoon Alice in Wonderland I used to watch. “Well, I apologize for giving you a fright. I’m afraid I can’t control where my dreams lead me.” She pauses, her blue eyes fixing me in an uncomfortable stare.

Curiouser and curiouser, I think, but ask: “What do you mean where your dreams lead you? That doesn’t explain anything at all.” The girl starts arranging her skirts and begins, in a calm voice that doesn’t match the situation, to explain. “My dreams take me to places and people that need a story. Once, I fell asleep under a tree and landed in a curious place called Wonderland. Next, I arrived on an island. The inhabitants were boys who all seemed lonely and in need of a friend. Next, was a city in startling shades of green and a not-so-nice wizard. For the past six years I’ve travelled to a different wonderland every year on my birthday. This year it appears I landed here. Obviously, this place has a story worth telling.

She smiles hopefully at me. I don’t know if Southern Pines, North Carolina has any magical gateways to other worlds, but if famous storybook characters can randomly appear my grip on reality must be a bit less Kansas, and a lot more Emerald City. I had a feeling anyone might feel a bit mad next to Alice, with her orderly appearance and polished manner. It might be mad, but where could I find a story for Alice?

According to the signs in-between the pumpkin decorations in the Sunrise Theater’s entrance it was as old as the town. Old stories seemed to fit Alice’s style. But Alice took one step inside and frowned. “Something smells...strange in here,” she muttered. When I realized what she smelled, I laughed. “That’s just the popcorn! Most people love the smell.” She wrinkles her nose. “People enjoy this? How curious. But I don’t think a place with such an odd smell will work.”

The Sunrise has always seemed magical to me. But Alice says, “this just doesn’t feel right. I can sense when things are headed in the right direction, and this is most certainly the wrong way.”

I sigh and lead Alice from the theater to the train platform across the street. If theater couldn’t power a story, maybe transportation could. She gawks at the cars we pass and at the teenagers carrying skateboards. Alice walks up and down the tracks but nothing piques her interest. “The way home isn’t the tracks,” she says, “perhaps we might find it in the station itself?”

Inside, there’s a map of destinations but nothing inspiring. “Not here,” Alice and I say at the same time. She smiles at me, and I grin back. But my smile fades into a frown as I remember that this was the last place on my short list of ideas. “What’s wrong?” Alice asks, concerned. I confess, “If I don’t help I can’t be part of your story.” She laughs. “What’s so funny?” I ask.

“What’s funny is that you believe all good storybook characters must help to be worth including.”

“Name one good character who didn’t help the hero.” I fire back. “Not including the villain.”

“What a curious idea.” Alice exclaims. “You can be any character you want to be. That’s what’s so nice about writing your own story.” I stare at Alice, envious of her confidence. Then I realize the most obvious place to find Alice’s story. “ Alice! If we go to the library and find your book, maybe we can send you home!”

We quickly run to the place our shared story started. Bursting through the doors, we scare the librarian seated behind her leaf-scattered desk. “I think this is it!” Alice squeals, “this way!” We begin scouring the shelves for a copy of Alice in Wonderland. Eventually, I spot one. “Found it!” I whisper-yell to Alice. I hand Alice the worn copy and she opens it to the first page. She smiles at me. “To create a story you must write it down. Can I trust you to write yours?” I nod. And she’s gone. Which is good, because I have some trick or treating to do. And after that, I have a story to write.

Isla Grace Riggsbee, 7 | Fall Writing Contest Winner

Meow | Paige “Jay” Greytak ,9

Maureen Morales, Faculty

Jenny Jonnes

I never really cared much for fall; fall is stressful. Summer, however, is nice. Summer is warm, familiar and welcoming. I liked how the days seemed so short, and all I had to worry about was what bathing suit I should wear. Last summer was the best summer I’ve ever had, though. I went to Jenny Jonnes’ house, we went for ice cream; we did everything together. And I loved it.

Fall, however, just screams average to me. I guess it’s like me in that aspect. My black hair is fluffy, and normal length. My clothes are nothing special. They weren’t pricey, but they weren’t cheap. I have the usual number of friends too. Even my name, Sadie, is average.

Jenny loves Fall. So, I guess that’s another thing I don’t get about her. I don’t understand how she can be so perfect. She’s extraordinary, top of the class, and she’s so beautiful. I want to understand her, but I just can’t seem to look her in the eye anymore. Not since I freaked out when she told me she had a boyfriend. I don’t even know why I freaked out. I glanced at my clock.

“It’s probably too early to be thinking about Jenny and Fall and all those confusing things,” I muttered to myself. Suddenly my alarm clock goes off, and it hits me that I’ve been up since around 4:30 am; it’s 6:30 now. Reluctantly, I get out of bed to start getting ready for school. I began to put on some comfortable shorts and a T-shirt for some show that went off air years ago. Then I remembered the cold mornings and had to throw on a jacket to avoid Dad pointing out my bare arms; he always insisted I would freeze to death with the things I wore in Fall and Winter. I had a quick breakfast of an apple and one of those off-brand diet drinks. I don’t really like either of those things, but we haven’t been to the store in a week. I had finished my preparations for school so now I’m off. I took a step outside and instantly noticed the warm colors of the leaves on trees. It was almost pretty; almost. I had the time, so I walked at a normal pace and admired the scenery. No matter how much fun Summer is, Fall is prettier. Fall has a subtle beauty; it doesn’t yell at you. So, I guess it isn’t that bad, but I still don’t really like Fall.

As I arrive at school, I notice everyone has started changing again. Some new fad is taking over, and I’ll just stay in my place; out of the spotlight. I bet Jenny likes the changing seasons; a new year means more time for her to become more popular and loved by everyone. I finally got to the entrance at school, but the walk didn’t seem that long. I guess I got lost in my thoughts; I tend to do that a lot lately. I walked through the double doors of my school and zoned out, letting another day pass by. Nothing much had happened that day, and later I was lying in my bed, up way too late once again.

Suddenly I got a text; it was from Jenny Jonnes. She had just said “hi” to me, but somehow it was still enough to make my heart skip a beat. We talked all night, and she listened to my flustered attempt to apologize for freaking out that day. Somehow, she forgave me. I felt like crying; I hadn’t realized how much I had wanted her forgiveness.

The next day I followed the same routine, managing to slip out of the house without a jacket on. My day was uneventful as usual, but I did get a smile from Jenny during science. It was colder today than I had expected, but I felt my face warming up after she smiled at me. Time passed, and suddenly school was over. I didn’t walk more than five minutes away from school when I heard a bubbly voice calling for me from behind. I turned around and it was Jenny, running up to me, waving, with a flushed face and a blue scarf on. So, we walked together; and when she noticed how cold I was, she wrapped her scarf around me. The warm gesture brought a goofy grin to my already red face. Now I talk to Jenny every day, just like in Summer, and I’m always at her house, just like in Summer. I was wrong the whole time; I love fall.

Harper Hairston, 8 | Fall Writing Contest Runner Up

Masquerade

“I am surprised that the magician decided to hold the masquerade this year considering no one has seen him outside his manor since his wife, Belleza, died. I heard...” Tuning out mother’s senseless gossip. I can’t wait to dance; I think as I start to sway to the growing music.

We approach the magician, “Hello, ladies.” The magician flashes a charming smile, “as a thank you for coming to the ball take these masks as a gift.” As everyone entered, he handed them a glowing blue mask. I stretch out my hand to receive a mask, but nothing is placed in it. I look up to see the magician analyzing me, “you look ravishing in that dress, miss...?”

“Thank you, my name is Alice.”

“Pleasure,” he extends a mask, “I’m Henri.”

Taking the mask, it turns pink beneath my touch; I let out a gasp. Henri smiles, “they do call me a magician for a reason.”

As I enter the ballroom the crowd pushes me forward; I feel a rush of energy letting the music enter my soul. Young men swarm me eagerly asking for a dance. I let one lead me onto the dance floor as a foxtrot begins; a sweep of petticoats floats across the dance floor as women dance from suitor to suitor. The dance slows to a waltz giving me a moment to study my partner. “Do you mind if I ask your age?”

“Not at all, I’m twenty-two,” he replies.

Father Age has not been kind to you! His face was lined with wrinkles well beyond his time; no, I must be seeing things from exhaustion. Before my eyes his face began to sag with age as the mask pulsed brighter; My eyes widened.

“What’s wrong,” the man questioned.

“Your mask!” I didn’t finish my statement because of a tap on my shoulder.

Henri stood there, “may I cut in?” The man left motioning for Henri to join me.

Blinking away at the craziness as I looked at Henri -- young and handsome as I last saw him. You were just seeing things, Alice.

“Might I just say that you look enchanting in that dress,” Henri says with such intensity.

“Oh, Thank you.”

Henri looks around analyzing everyone’s face; he guides me across the room. “Would you like to get out for a moment.”

I give a thankful sigh, “Very much, I think the zeal of it all was getting to me.” Henri leads me to a garden bench.

“Thank you for being here tonight, you have made this evening very special for me,” Henri stares into my eyes.

“Oh, you’re welcome,” I avoid his piercing gaze.

“You remind me so much of my late wife; no one has ever matched her beauty but you.” Henri inched closer. Concern etched along my brow suddenly uncomfortable.

“I think I’m ready to go back inside.” I start to stand up, but Henri seizes my hand.

“Sit with me for a little longer.” Fear took hold of my heart as I sat back down; his gaze, once charming, now sinister. “Shh, listen,” Henri whispers. A beat of silence passes then... screams erupt from the ballroom; agonizing screams.

“What’s happening?” I shout over shrieks.

“Magic,” Henri looks at me with a deranged stare, “these powers don’t just happen; you bargain with demons for it, and every fifty years the contract must be renewed. The masks pull the life out of the wearer and are given to demons.”

All words escaped me as I stared in horror at the man in front of me, “Why am I okay then?” I whisper as terror chokes me.

“How could I let them take you? You are a true beauty; a prize not for the demons but for me,” Henri’s voice let out a sinister growl, “your mask will not take your soul, but it will restore it.”

“My soul does not need restoring.”

“It’s okay, soon you’ll be back to your true self, Belleza,” A smile spreads across his face, “come let’s see our finished product.”

So focused on the intensity of the situation I didn’t realize the wailing had stopped. We stepped into the horror scene that is the dance floor. Husks of people dotted the floor; I inch closer to one; the skin burnt, and a face fossilized with eternal torment. “Now, it’s your turn.”

“What?” The mask starts to burn like lava poured over my skin I give a piercing scream. I claw at the mask, but it’s glued to my skin. The pain ripped through my body as I sunk to the ground trembling, tormented; my mind started slipping. Hold on Alice... between convulses of pain I try to stay awake, to stay alive! My vision fades, and I am plunged into darkness, just... hold... on... Belleza.

Caitlyn Blocklinger, 9

Colour Study | Jane Nguyen, 9

Summer into Winter

I am thankful for autumn.

I think it would be too painful to go from summer straight to winter, one harshness to another. Autumn lets me hang on to the last days of summer, the last memories, the last golden hour and the last time the waves will brush up against my feet. Standing on the shoreline in November is a feeling of suspense. Something will come, soon. Push me in, Away from the joy of summer and onto the dead of winter. But for now, I still stand on the shore.

The waves seem cautious, almost, touching me. Maybe they know that the beach is for summer, that being here is holding onto a past that has already slipped away. But maybe they simply do not want to chill me with their frigid temperatures. The ocean is cold in autumn.

I run, feet pounding the ground. And then, I find myself laughing. I didn’t know autumn could do that. I didn’t know that the ocean can be cold, and that I can laugh in the dark days of fall, even while the frigid waves brush my freezing feet.

Summer into winter is the earth zipping up its woolly fleece, it warms itself from the inevitable cold. My fleece will not button itself until December. Until then, I am on my own.

The day is cool and cloudy. I walk too far down the beach, past the point of no return. I cannot stop it from coming, No scarves or socks will stave off the still of snow. I cannot be saved from autumn.

But maybe autumn will save me.

Charlotte Mills, 10 | Upper School Youngclaus Award Winner

Sketches and Scenery

It was a beautiful day outside. Anise looked out the classroom window again, perhaps checking a reference for her drawing. She always spent lunch in Ms. Fynch’s room to draw.

The image was ingrained in Ms. Fynch’s memory- Anise hunched over a sketchbook, her long dark hair forming a curtain around her face, dark eyes focused on the paper as her pale, slender hands whisked the pencil around at top speed.

Sometimes she would look up at some window or corner of the bright, airy room, or else check her phone or close her eyes as though she was remembering something. She always had earbuds in, drowning out the world with some distant song.

Today she was wearing a pale-yellow sweater dress- much brighter than her usual clothing, and quite a contrast to the simple black face mask on her desk.

Ms. Fynch was a busy woman, but she tried to keep an eye on Anise. She didn’t seem to have any friends at school, and walked home alone every day.

But that wasn’t the reason the teacher was worried.

The girl was constantly looking over her shoulder, and once or twice even seemed to talk to something that wasn’t really there. But the most concerning thing was her drawings.

Ms. Fynch shook her head slightly, trying to clear it of such morbid thoughts, and looked up from the papers she had been grading to the window Anise had been glancing at. She took in the lovely weather, a clear sky filled with bright golden sunlight, and the equally lovely scenery- a flowerbed full of orange flowers and the grassy hill behind. Everything beautiful, nothing out of place.

She brushed her sandy waves behind her ear as she turned back to the papers, blinking her clear blue-grey eyes. This test was so long and complex, and she wasn’t very motivated at the moment. She glanced up at Anise, only to find her looking away from that same window once again, her brows scrunched.

She appeared to be drawing something outside, but considering her usual taste in art, that didn’t seem likely.

“Anise!” called Ms. Fynch.

She didn’t answer, lost in her own little world.

“Anise?” Ms. Fynch tried again, and this time the girl looked up and removed an earbud.

“Yes?”

“Are you sure you don’t want go eat with someone?”

Anise blinked, a little confused. “Who would want to eat with me? Besides, there are only four minutes left, and I want to finish this sketch.”

With that, she went back to drawing, her mind returning to whatever dark place it had been pulled out of.

Ms. Fynch sighed. They’d had this conversation before, and she knew it was useless protesting.

Anise was a strange girl, unflappable and matter-of-fact to the point of cynicism, yet with a truly incredible imagination.

A truly terrible imagination.

The bell finally rang to signal the end of lunch.

“Before you go, may I see your drawing?” asked Ms. Fynch.

Anise sighed, but showed it reluctantly.

Ms. Fynch had a good poker face, but even she had to make a real effort not to react.

The paper held a black and white drawing of a girl, drawn from the waist up. But not just any girl- her clothes and hair were messy, and she dripped all over with black liquid- maybe blood, maybe something else. It seemed to flow thickly from her eyes, dark and menacing, one replaced with a large spiky flower. Her hands were long, blackened claws, and seemed to be pressed against something in front of her- a screen of some sort? Glass, maybe?

The drawing was actually very impressive, but so, so twisted.

Ms. Fynch swallowed hard and turned to the artist, who was packing her things to leave.

“Anise, why do you draw things like this? Why not more normal things, like landscapes or fruit?”

Anise took the drawing back and turned to look at the window one last time. At the mangled, almost human shape of the creature outside, clawed hands pressed against the glass window, desperate to be let inside.

“No reason.”

Campbell Medford, 10 | Fall Writing Contest Winner

Bubbles | Simeon Morin, 10

Gatsby Love Letter

To my dearest Daisy, I

love you,

You are everything I want in this life and the next.

It was October 11, 1923, and German enemies were closing in on our brigade. I was on the frontlines leading my men into battle. The air was infected with fog, but love became my eyes, and your ghost became my shield. I couldn’t see past the dirt in front of me, in what we call low light. Gun powder burned my throat and my eyes.

I was shot once in the thigh and twice in the back. Miracle shots.

People tell you about this moment, your life flashing before your eyes. They say it’s sad, but I wish I had it on a record, to play over and over again. In that moment I wasn’t hysteric or scared like everyone said I would be, I was homesick. You were the only thing that reached the depths of my mind. A compilation of our greatest feats, your memory became my home. Lying in the dirt, feeling that rush of what I imagined to be adrenaline and the body’s last attempts at gripping to life, you were the home I needed to stay for and to get back to.

I called to my battle buddy, then passed out. Over the next day I am bandaged and brought to life by the grace of God. You are my grace.

Grace, beauty, and the sound of your voice are my holy trinity.

Wait for me Daisy. Wait for me the way the sun waits for the moon he knows he cannot have. Wait for me like the flower waits to bloom, because together, we will be just that. A beautiful assimilation of two souls bound by love, not just marriage. You are marrying Tom by law, but I don’t resent you for it. In a way, I understand. You need security. Let me be your blanket to have and to hold. Let me be your emotional sedative.

Daisy, it was you who stayed with me through sickness and in health, in honor and disgrace. Repeating and repenting as I passed out. Daisy, my flower, you embody the vows we have already promised each other and while you will pronounce them to Tom, I know they are empty words only to be filled by longing and wanting.

In another life we are together, forever on an escapade across the cosmos. Where stars become our afternoons and daily life is a given rather than a privilege. Planets align only for us because they envy the bond we share. They are destined to ellipt, to come close but never embrace, while we dance to the swaying of time. I fade away and you become my significance.

The most important moments in life aren’t when we live and when we die, but when I met you and we became us.

Wait for us.

I love you.

With Love, Jay Gatsby

Katie McCloskey, 11

The ten of hearts was a card once

Until the two-year-old tore it apart

And she threw the pieces onto the floor

And some out onto the stairs

While the rest was swept under a rug.

One Card Shy

We are left to wonder who is next.

The King of Spades has been awfully nervous about his Queen’s whereabouts. He thought he saw her with the Jack, but does not have the proof.

The two of diamonds vanished one night Only to reappear with a joker.

I missed the five of spades

And last I checked the Ace of Clubs. Perhaps it is time to mess with a seven.

The deck is much too comfortable with themselves And needs a rude awakening. Nothing is safe and a full deck is too easy to find. So, perhaps it is time to split up a four

Or deal with a six

And brush them all away like the Fall leaves.

Meghan Ravenscroft, Faculty

Radford Walker | Earth Day Photography Contest “Enjoying Earth” Winner

The End

If, by chance, our world might end, And I am never to see you again, Hold my gaze, and perhaps my hand; It is you I crave, right where you stand.

A tempting offer, more time may be, I shall not waste it – your sweet company. Though the leaves brown and wither with age, Our love is timeless and will never fade.

The leaves have darkened under a brooding sky, And fall one by one as the trees seem to cry. We watch in silence as the world slowly wilts; Our reality, it appears, is beginning to tilt.

I hold your hand steadfast in mine, For the cold cannot touch me with our fingers intertwined. The wind may whistle a loud and mighty tune, But dare I say: “Is that the best you can do?”

It is coming, it is soon – I know it in my mind –, But I can only smile as we run out of time. We are all we need, right now, right here; I take comfort in that as the end draws near.

Shahrazad Batterjee, 12 | Fall Writing Contest Runner Up